


Small Victories

by Ryumaru



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Gen, Heresy, The Tau and the Imperium don't treat each other like crap, extra heretical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 06:19:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12811488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryumaru/pseuds/Ryumaru
Summary: A Tau commander, sent on a nigh-impossible mission, manages to accomplish it. Just... not in quite the way the Ethereals would approve of.





	Small Victories

In.

Out. 

Count one. Two. Three.

Line up the shot.

Fire. 

In the distance, a Chaos cultist's head snapped backwards, and An're took another breath. 

The Fire Caste warrior had been sent to this planet two weeks prior, on a mission handed down from the Ethereals themselves. A week prior, she and her detachment had been ambushed by howling cultists, leaving only a handful of them unhurt. Twelve good soldiers had been killed. The guerilla attacks had only escalated from there. No support had come from the Empire's high command. It was vital, she had been told, that this mission be fulfilled without drawing upon extra resources. 

The Shas'o had been furious at first. Now she directed her fury down the sights of her rifle. 

Another cultist fell, this one with a hole through the eight-pointed star tattooed on the side of her shaved head. Two weeks ago, An're would have questioned the wisdom of tatooing a target mark on oneself, not knowing the full significance of the symbol. Now, however, she knew it for what it was. 

Already, the camp of fanatics was stirring in the cold moonlight. Accuracy and power did nothing to mask the noise of a longshot pulse rifle; not even distance could keep her hidden for long. She had time for one more shot before the camp would be fully roused. 

The T'au grit her teeth as she settled on her final target. She recognized the hulk of a gue'la, not that it was difficult – scars marked every inch of his smug face. The last time she had seen those scars, they had been running with the blood of one of her Pathfinders. The gue'la had been laughing around a mouthful of T'au flesh, having torn out the soldier's throat with his bare teeth. 

In. 

Out. 

Count one. Two. Three.

Line up the shot. 

The sharp report of the rifle echoed across the dry canyon, just in time to catch up with the cultist's neck exploding in a shower of gore. The man staggered, clutching at the massive hole An're had blown in his throat, futilely gasping for air. Then he collapsed. 

Now, she knew, there would be shouting. Alarms raised. The whole camp of cultists would be awakened, armed, sent to draw blood three times over for this insult. Their Blood God would be pleased, or so they believed. Already, the T'au sniper was rolling herself into a standing position, slipping into the shadow of a rock formation. Now, before the cultists could fully rouse themselves, was the time to strike. 

“Nightwatcher team,” she said into her commlink, “enemy camp is in disarray. Make them pay for our fallen family.” 

Wordlessly, a trio of heavy battlesuits seemed to materialize on a ledge above the camp. Two of them flipped their armaments down towards the main body of ramshackle shelters and opened fire. The third aimed a longer weapon at one of the battered vehicles parked some twelve meters away from its comrades' targets, and fired a single shot. 

Under the heavy, thudding sound of the two burst cannons mowing down cultists, the sinister hiss of the fusion blaster served as prelude to the explosion. Fragments of old cattle-hauler flew skyward, propelled by a promethium fireball. 

“Fall back, Nightwatcher team,” said An're, watching through her scope. “Dawnbreakers, cover their retreat.”

“Aye, captain,” answered one of her two remaining lieutenants. The shas'ui then barked an order to his own subordinates, who promptly popped up from behind their own cover, just outside the camp, and vaulted into position. One T'au soldier hurriedly shoved a large cylinder into place, and it beeped welcomingly as it opened up to reveal a missile pod. Already, the pulse rifles of the strike team were in full chorus, drawing the attention of the enemy away from the retreating stealth battlesuits. 

Now that the alarm had been raised, the cultists were massing. A few were cut down, having left the safety of their battlements or what cover the desert rock gave them, but most were either intelligent or cowardly enough to stay hidden until their full strength could be mustered. Already, patchwork armor was being clapped on and weathered weapons were being handed out. There were many of the gue'la, far too many to count, and An're had been stunned to find that her small detachment had been meant to handle the horde alone. The Ethereals had wanted this world secured for colonization. Either they had severely underestimated the threat posed by the forces of Chaos that were present, or she and her soldiers – good men and women, to the last – had been meant to die here. For the Greater Good, presumably. 

The strike team, shielded by their defensive drones, continued to fire at the camp's gates. It was critical to keep the enemy's collective head down for as long as possible. An're had not the forces to withstand a direct assault, even at the start of the mission. Two small units of XV8 crisis battlesuits waited on the flanks of the strike team, but they would hardly be enough to slow the tide of bodies that would come pouring out once the cultists had fully equipped themselves. Let alone what else lurked in the camp. 

While the strike team kept up the hail of fire, An're used the time to get herself into a more defensible position, albeit one closer to the camp. Once their, she unslung her rifle and took aim once again. 

Gue'la, she had learned, were far more adaptable than her own kind. Slay the leader of a band, and they would elect a new one within days, if not hours. Still, the confusion caused by the loss of a voice of authority could bring valuable seconds. By the time the strike team had fully reloaded their own weapons, hers had claimed the lives of two cultists bedecked in pointed jewelry. 

Once more. In.

Out. 

Count. 

She aligned her sights with a leering mask, worn by a gue'la in finer robes than the filthy surroundings would have suggested. 

Then came the growl. 

Cursing, An're felt herself twitch reflexively even as she pulled the trigger. Rather than shattering the mask, her round caught the cultist in the shoulder, causing him to scream and drop his gun. There was no time to celebrate a small victory, however. For the briefest of moments, she glanced through her scope. Gleaming in brass and blood red, a heavy boot stepped out of one of the dormant transports. 

The terrible growl of chainaxe engines grew to a roar. The cultists cheered. Their masters had awakened and joined the fight. 

“Dawnbreakers, fall back! Fall back!” An're shouted into her commlink. She had pushed their luck too much. If they couldn't find cover soon, her strike team would be slaughtered under a tide of pressing flesh, backed by ceramite and bolter fire. She too was dropping into a full run, having sacrificed the jet booster in her own armor to repair that of one of the battlesuits. 

“Landslide One and Two, be ready!” she snapped, knowing full well that her next order for the XV8 units could be the last one they would receive. If the plan failed, it would likely be the last one she gave. 

The gates to the camp burst open, letting loose a flood of howling fanatics. The strike team's shas'ui programmed one last command into the shield drones before falling back with his soldiers, leaving the machines behind to cover their escape. Boltgun rounds and more mundane ammunition sizzled and bounced off the force fields, saving the lives of the T'au behind them. 

A cry went up behind the mass of cultists. The armored titans, some score or so of them, had begun their battle chant, whipping themselves and their followers into a blood frenzy. Like streaks of carmine lightning, they began the charge. 

Between their stature, the terrifying conditioning of the Blood God's cult, and their own bloodlust, the berzerkers quickly began to catch up to the T'au. They bulled into the shield drones, brushing aside the dependable little machines like gnats. Even as the drones exploded, the berzerkers didn't slow. 

“Landslide One, drop armament!” An're could hear herself say. She was at full tilt now, barely able to spit the order out between breaths. 

From one side of the rocky gully, a trio of battlesuits hurled lumpy satchels. The odd shapes twisted briefly in the moonlight before hitting the dirt and raising small clouds of arid dust. The shas'o had no need to follow up with another order, as the matching unit of battlesuits on the opposite sides knew their next move. Jet boosters blazing, they leapt into position, burst cannons blazing. The rounds hit the photon grenades inside the satchels, and a brilliant flash lit up the gully. 

Blinking, An're quickly looked to see if her ploy had been successful. She cursed once more. The cultists, those few who had been athletic or frenzied enough to keep up with their berzerker lords, had fallen, clutching at their eyes. The photon grenades had not, however, seemingly affected the armored hulks that were chasing her troops, undaunted. Now, they had clear paths to charge into the battlesuits. 

The force split in two, half charging one wing of battlesuits, and half charging the other. Even as she skidded to an undignified halt and brought up her rifle again in some last, desperate gambit to maybe slow at least one of the berzerkers, An're knew that her soldiers were looking death in the face. 

Burst cannons flaring like dying stars, the XV8s stoically stood their ground. One, two, maybe three of the berzerkers actually staggered and fell, pulled down by the sheer weight of fire. It wouldn't be enough. Even with fire support from the shas'o, it wouldn't be enough. The rumbling blades of their chainaxes almost seemed to slaver at the prospect of tasting T'au blood. 

An're grit her teeth. If this was the way it was to be, so be it. 

Firing at whatever targets she could find, the shas'o charged to support her troops. 

Some wordless battle cry tore itself out of her. Her pulse rifle barked and she hit a berzerker square in the chest. The armor seemed to absorb the shot entirely, only serving to draw his attention to her. The rest of his fellows broke through the hail of fire, beginning their collapse on the battlesuits, as he turned. Though his helm was locked in a permanent grimace of rage, An're found herself feeling as though it sneered at her. 

In her peripheral vision, An're could see her troops putting up the most fight they could. The barrel of a burst cannon swiveled into a berzerker's face and spat ammunition, managing to pierce the helmet's layered ceramite. Another trooper beside the first swing his gun like a club with ferocity that she had never seen from the man, butting another of the berzerkers aside. A wild axe swing hit home and bit deep into the shoulder of the battlesuit, sending sparks flying like blood. Even as she saw it happen, her hands moved automatically to the trigger of her rifle. 

A sort of serenity washed over An're. Death was coming for her, she and her loyal troops would die here on some unnamed world, unburied and likely unmourned, but she could only feel a cool, numb calm. Like she was in a dream, An're felt herself pull the trigger twice in quick succession, hitting directly each time but failing to do more than scratch her opponent's armor. 

In the distance, there was a faint sound, not unlike thunder. 

An're found herself suddenly gasping for air as the berzerker snatched her up in his titanic grip. Something snapped, and a dull pain began to wash through her body. Her helmet clattered to the ground, broken off by the attack. Without any other recourse, she valiantly swung her rifle at the berzerker, but he was simply too fast. His other hand came up, chainaxe growling like a starved dog, and smashed the rifle from her grip. One of her fingers broke, but she barely registered the little crack as the berzerker hoisted her up like a hunting trophy. 

Through the helmet's vox, An're's opponent said something to her. While she couldn't understand the words through the nightmarish haze enveloping her brain, the tone was universal – a smug taunt, gloating superiority. 

She spat on the berzerker's helmet. 

The berzerker hefted his chainaxe. 

Lightning struck, in a flash of silver. 

An're was hurled aside as another titan, equal to the berzerker in size but in steely grey and bearing a shield, brought a crackling hammer down on the berzerker's shoulder. Dimly, she saw a shape blur through the sky, seeming to shed scales of that same steel color. 

By the time the shas'o had pulled herself back upright, choking and gasping, she could see the berzerker fall, face-down. Her savior was already turning to the rest of the battle, signalling his compatriots to charge. A dozen or so warriors in like armor had already joined the fight, and were hefting bolter rifles decorated with gold. They began to wade into the fray, shouting battle cries of their own to match the chanting of the enemy. 

Trembling through the shock and pain, An're managed to stagger over to her fallen, battered rifle. She could only hold it with one hand, bracing the stock against her shoulder. Gripping it normally hurt too much. She would have to fire without aiming, assuming she could fire at all. But she told herself she had to keep fighting. The battle was not over yet. 

The charge of the new arrivals had met with success, such was their fury. Already, the formation of the cultists was beginning to break. While the berzerkers met the assault with equal strength, their minions were being cut down by the now-freed battlesuits. The ship that had flown overhead added its own spray of fire to the litany, scattering the survivors. 

Throughout the chaos, An're fired indiscriminately into the seething, thinning horde. Most of her shots went wild, zipping off into the night, but some small few found marks in backs, legs, or shoulders. Her sharp eyes could pick out some cultists who were not fleeing quite so quickly, and with a moment's observation, it became clear as to why. They had somehow acquired plasma weaponry – merely pistols, but that was more than enough – and were setting them to overload. The shas'o had seen this tactic before, used against some of her own: a suicide charge into a heavily-armored enemy, letting the plasma weapon explode and take both owner and opponent. 

A glance confirmed that the warriors who had saved her and her troops were too busy engaging the berzerkers to notice. It fell to her and the remaining battlesuits. She said something into her commlink that she herself did not fully understand, already trying to aim through her injuries. One of the battlesuits broke off and fired on the cultists, cutting down two of the three who had armed their weapons to self-destruct. 

One remained, and he bolted for the nearest of the knights. 

Time slowed. 

In.

Out. 

Count one. Two. Three. 

Line up the shot. 

_Fire._

By some miracle, An're had managed to hit the running cultist. She had intended to hit him in the chest or back, somewhere in the center of his mass, but instead she had hit his outstretched hand. The plasma containment chamber ruptured and the man had only the briefest of moments to scream before he was consumed by the blue, rippling cloud. 

There were a few final blows to be struck, but that marked the end of the battle. The last of the berzerkers fell under the ringing blows of the knights. The few living cultists fled into the wastes, pursued by yet more flying transports. An're felt herself coming down from the adrenaline rush, and propped herself up using her rifle as a crutch. 

One of the knights approached her. She met the cool gaze of the impassive helmet, evenly, despite her wavering focus and the beginnings of a vague ringing in her ears. A small part of her noted that she would have to get herself checked for head injury. 

The evident leader of the knights, as his armor bore the most decoration and heraldry, set his hammer back into a safe holster on the side of one greave. With his now-empty hand, the man disengaged the seals on his helm and took it off. 

“You did well, Xenos,” said the man. His voice sounded much like the rumble of his ship's engines, and his skin was darker than the bare earth. “You and yours fought with honor befitting citizens of the Imperium.”

“Not that you'll catch us saying so in earshot of an official,” said another of the knights. 

“Painful as it may be to the Ecclesiarchy and the Adeptus Ministorum,” continued the man, “we owe you a debt. Without your assistance, we would have had to spend months rooting out the corruption of Chaos on this planet. The Grey Knights honor your service.” 

An're did her best to manage a smile. “The T'au Empire honors yours, gue'la,” she replied. “Otherwise we wouldn't have a new colony.” 

The Grey Knight returned the smile. “Your Gothic is improving,” he noted. “This past week has been most educational for all of us, I trust.” 

“Sergeant Kalden,” said another of his men, “our Stormravens report that they are chasing down the last of the cultists. Your orders?”

“Once they have finished their appointed task, have them rendevous back here. We shall return to our own base camp afterwards.”

“And the T'au, sir?”

Kalden turned back to An're. “You said you intend to take this world as a colony for your Empire, yes?”

“Those were my orders,” she replied. “Just as I told you a week ago.” 

“A shame. This world has much potential for the Imperium as well. Without the taint of Chaos, it could serve as an agri-world.” 

A week ago, when An're had met the Grey Knights, the Imperials had been chasing a cell of cultists. The same cell, by some twist of fate, had been the one to ambush An're's forces. Teeth gritted and smiles strained, they had reached an agreement that would purge the evil from the planet and avenge the loss of good T'au. Tensions had run high on both sides of the pact. 

Now, perhaps, tension had given way to an understanding. 

“Well. We have to report back,” said Kalden. “I imagine it will take some time to bring word through about an unoccupied world. Warp travel is unreliable, you know.” He turned to his men. “Can't remember the last time we actually arrived somewhere on time.” 

There were vague groans of agreement. 

“Still,” he said. “I doubt the Imperium would have as much interest in a world that has already been colonized.” This was true. An unclaimed world was ripe for the taking, but one with inhabitants to be dealt with was just another one on the ever-growing pile of future Imperial conquests. 

An're gave a weary sigh. “I've accomplished my mission today. Whether or not the Ethereals will agree is another matter.” 

A buzzing in her commlink alerted her that the strike team had returned. The shas'ui reported minor losses – two dead, and thrice as many injured. The leaders of the battlesuit units followed up, with no casualties for the stealth suits, but one of the XV8 pilots had been killed. The remaining ones would need intense medical care. 

Kalden listened in to the reports, a privilege granted by An're having lost her helmet. “My T'au is only rudimentary,” he said, “but I believe I understood most of that.” He turned his back to her, addressing his own troops. “We return to orbit as soon as our forces are reconvened. We are needed elsewhere, I am sure.” Over his armored shoulder, he added, “You should have time enough to mourn your losses and treat your wounded.” 

An're nodded a silent understanding.

The ships of the Grey Knights were already on the horizon. The Space Marines began to form up for their retrieval, and Kalden replaced his helmet. 

“If we do meet again,” he added, just before walking away, “I hope that it is in similar circumstances.” There was a pause. “Erm. Without the casualties, of course.” With that, he gave the shas'o a salute, and she returned it. 

Two months later, the T'au colony, officially to be designated Greywatch, was well under construction. The ships of the Imperium passed by the desert planet, and An're prepared herself for her next assignment.

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically word-vomit and I marathon-wrote this in the space of like three hours. Here it is, raw, unedited, and extra heretical for even implying that the Imperium has reasonable people living in it.


End file.
